


Shared Histories

by sweetdreamsofgelato (Dolceamara)



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gentle references to death, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolceamara/pseuds/sweetdreamsofgelato
Summary: You and Henry have been on the hunt for wedding rings and it takes an unexpected turn
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Shared Histories

Of all the things involved in planning a wedding, you never would have anticipated that the rings would give you the most trouble. Seating arrangements – maybe. Choosing a dress – absolutely, but the bands, you naively assumed, would be a quick decision.

The engagement ring had been a non-decision, truthfully. Henry proposed with an heirloom ring. It was simple, unassuming, and so stunningly perfect that you refused to make any changes to it. Henry had been so concerned that it wouldn’t be to your taste, but even if it hadn’t been, you would have worn it anyway. There had been an indescribable feeling when Henry slid it onto your finger. Overwhelming love and happiness, of course, but there had been something else as well.

There had been a shift in the air, a surprising jolt that tingled up your hand and rippled out across your nerves, and with it the pivotal understanding that your histories were indelibly entwined. For lack of a better word, it felt right.

The last six months had been spent on a frantic search for that same feeling. You had lost count of how many wedding bands you’d tried. Every shape, style, and colour under the sun, but nothing gave you that same weighty surety when it sat on your finger. Perhaps it was silly to expect it, maybe even selfish, yet you wanted it all the same.

Today, you returned unsuccessful yet again. You sat with Henry in silence as the car rumbled onto the narrow side drive of your modest end-of-terrace home, and you felt so fed up with yourself that you wanted to scream.

Henry, bless the man, had the patience of a saint. If he was in any way frustrated by your indecision, it never showed.

“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” you said as soon as Henry killed the engine. It was probably nothing that required an apology, but you still felt you owed it to him anyway.

Henry flicked you an impatient look. “As I say every time, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He lifted your left hand to his lips and dropped a kiss across your fingers, and the corner of his mouth brushed slightly against his family’s ring. His piercing blue eyes were filled with affection when they met yours. “You did me the honour of wearing this when you didn’t have to, so the least I can do is be patient while you choose the perfect wedding bands.”

You couldn’t fight back the warmth that spread across your cheeks. “They should be perfect for you too.”

“If you are happy, then they are perfect for me.” His lips curved in a placating smile.

You slid him a sidelong glance and muttered, “That is not as helpful as you think it is.” Decision fatigue was real.

The look on his face said that he was far from oblivious to that fact. “And yet, it’s the truth.”

Henry soothed his thumb over your fingers one more time, and then hopped out, and slid around the front of the car so that he could open your door.

His arm wrapped around your side after you stepped out gave you a gentle squeeze. “We’ll find the right ones.”

All you could do was sigh and curl into him as you walked, the gravel underfoot crunching as you went. The looming wedding date made you more impatient than usual.

Henry guided you to the front door and as you were digging in your bag for your keys, a raggedy, disembodied voice sounded from the front garden next door.

“Are you two coming or going?”

“Hello, Mr. Holcroft.” Henry turned and waved at the elderly man next door, who was half hanging out of his large front window, the steady autumn breeze ruffling the shock of white hair on his head.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Arthur?” he bit off with prickled amusement.

“At least one more, it would seem,” Henry replied with a lopsided smile.

Arthur Holcroft was an astonishingly spritely, outspoken nonagenarian with a slightly off sense of humour and keen wit, and he had been your favourite neighbour since the day you moved in. Due to his somewhat strident, irascible nature, most of the others living along your street avoided him, but you both quickly discovered that you shared a kindred spirit of sorts. Over time he grew to be as much as family as one could without having earned it by birthright.

You would call him granddad if he would let you get away with it.

“Hello, Arthur,” you smiled indulgently and then answered his question, “we’ve just come home.”

“Brilliant!” His heavily wrinkled faced broke out into a wide smile. “Would you have time to come over for a cup of tea?”

You glanced questioningly at Henry, whose chin dipped in agreement.

“We’d be delighted,” you called back.

“Excellent! You make the best tea.” He disappeared back into his house, but his gravelly voice drifted out the window. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

You grinned at his compliment, and you and Henry quickly dropped your belongings inside before making your way next door. You let yourself in, just as Arthur had instructed you do when he gave you a copy of his key. Henry in tow, you quickly made your way toward the small kitchen that opened off the living room.

Hunched and leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand, Arthur stood in contemplation in front of an open cabinet. He may have been somewhat diminished with age, but you could still see the lingering presence of the broad, strapping man he must have been many years ago.

“I can’t decide on the biscuits,” he said without looking up.

You leaned against the doorframe as you watched him with warm familiarity. You stopped in most days to check on him, often bringing a few days’ worth of meals and groceries to make sure he was eating properly. Some days he would shoo you away after a brief hello (“aren’t you going to spend time with that man of yours?” he’d insist), and others you stuck around to help him with anything he may need, share a pot of tea and some conversation, or just enjoy a bit of quiet companionship.

At first, you thought it was because you felt bad that he was old and alone, but you later admitted it was mostly for yourself. Arthur never failed to make your days just a little brighter.

Henry was very understanding of it too. So much so that when the time came in your relationship to move in together, he offered to sell his house and move into yours, so that you wouldn’t be too far from Arthur.

Not that there had been a doubt in your mind, but at that exact moment, you had been trebly certain you were marrying the right man.

“It’s comforting to know I am not the only one wracked with indecision these days,” you finally said, moving to Arthur’s side so that you could peruse the cabinet as well.

The creases next to his eyes deepened when he slid you a sly look. “At least mine are limited to the insignificant.”

“Biscuits are hardly insignificant,” you whispered sportingly before saying, with more insistence because he looked as if he was going to topple over, “why don’t you and Henry sit and chat while I tend to the tea?”

Arthur didn’t argue. He turned, and you swore you heard his entire body creak as he shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room. With a tremulous finger, he guided Henry toward the faded couches flanking the fireplace.

Henry gave Arthur a steadying arm as he eased down into his chair and situate his cane, then he settled himself on one of the couches.

The kettle sounded and you made quick work of the tea and biscuits. You never used to go through such a fuss over tea (truthfully you preferred coffee, not that you would ever admit that to Arthur), but he made a passing comment long ago that his late wife, Mary, had always set out a full tray with proper loose-leaf tea brewed in her favourite pot. The next day, you dusted off said favourite tea service and had used it ever since, because a man his age deserved to relive such an especially tender moment as often as possible.

You hefted the laden tray into the living room. Henry didn’t notice you at first, but once he did, he broke his conversation with apology and rose to help. He dutifully held the tray and waited as you swept away a pile of crossword puzzles, all completed in ink and with nary a mistake to be found, from the coffee table.

“Here we are.” Henry set down the tray as soon as you gave him the all clear.

“You seemed considerably enthralled when I came over,” you remarked to Henry.

“Arthur was telling me about when he was dating–”

“Courting,” Arthur corrected with alacrity, “it’s different.”

Henry cast him a patient smile, “¬ –courting his wife.”

Your lips tipped wistfully, as you knew the story well.

Arthur slowly leaned over and took the cup of tea you proffered to him. “Thank you, dear.”

He took a brief moment to settle back, his teacup wobbling precariously in his hands, and continued, “Anyway, we were set up on a blind date by a mutual friend, who was sure we would be a good match. I was, naturally, a nervous mess despite her assurances, but I plucked up the courage to go anyway. If I survived the war, I could survive a blind date.”

He took a quick sip from his steaming cup, and you and Henry both waited with silent patience.

“My dear Mary was stunningly beautiful, but her heart far outshone her physical beauty.” A warm expression settled across his face as he reminisced. “Something shifted after that date, like pieces of a puzzle coming together. I knew from that very second that I wanted to marry her.”

Henry’s lips lifted in a small smile, as if he knew exactly what that felt like.

You’d heard the story before, but you didn’t think that you’d ever heard Arthur recount it quite so poetically. The way he spoke of Mary and the way he looked when he spoke of her made you deeply wish you could have seen them together. What a sight it must’ve been.

“But as it turned out, she was just in town to visit her friend – the one who set us up on the date. She actually lived much farther away. A good few hours by train.”

“I suspect that is not where this story ends,” Henry accepted a cup of tea from you with thanks.

Arthur’s eyes twinkled. “She thought it would. Anyone would have, given the distance.”

“Ah, but you knew.” Henry replied jovially.

“I knew,” Arthur nodded. “So, I committed to it without question. I would take the train every few days to go see her. It was less than ideal, as one would expect. I felt like I was spending more time travelling than I spent with her, even though every moment was a treasure.”

“So, what did you do?” Henry asked, clearly invested in the story now.

“I did what any respectable man would do.” Arthur took a deliberately long sip of tea before continuing, “I got a private pilot’s licence, borrowed a two-seater plane from my old navy mate, and flew to see her every chance I got until she agreed to marry me.”

Henry’s teacup stopped midway to his mouth. “You learnt to fly a plane,” his eyes volleyed between you and Arthur, “so you could court someone?”

“I knew,” Arthur repeated with a meaningful smile.

Henry looked at you with a sense of disbelief, and your smile mirrored Arthur’s as you shrugged. “He knew.”

It was your favourite story of his. Buried under that time-weathered, crotchety exterior was a romantic heart of gold.

“I feel deeply inadequate,” Henry laughed, “I’ll never live up to that.”

Arthur seemed inordinately pleased with that response, so you let the two men enjoy their odd moment of male bonding.

After a few quiet minutes with tea and biscuits, Arthur set down his cup and said, “I have a wedding gift for you.”

You immediately fussed, “You didn’t have to do that, Arthur.”

He levelled you with a stern look that said, _of course I did so don’t argue_.

So, you didn’t.

Arthur slowly eased forward and pulled a black velvet box, which was roughly the size of a deck of cards, off the polished oak side table next to his chair.

With a shaky hand, he held it out to Henry, who was sitting closest to him. “Go ahead and open it now. No need to stand on ceremony,” he sniffed.

Henry’s brow lifted as he shot you a puzzled look. Your chin tilted with curiosity, and he raised the box top. Nestled on a satiny bed inside were two freshly polished white gold wedding bands.

Your eyes flew to Arthur, who looked rather delighted for being able to shock you.

“There is a chain in there as well. It’s been many years since I have been able to get my ring over my arthritic knuckles, so I gave up trying.”

“These are yours?” Henry asked in surprise.

“To whom else would they belong?” Arthur replied with a mildly strained air. “But now they are yours, if you will have them.”

“This is too much.” You felt your eyes burn as you fought back tears. “Won’t you be sad without them?”

“I would be much happier if I knew that they brought someone else a little joy after I am gone,” he replied as he shifted to rest his cheek on his hand. “And Mary can live on, if just a bit longer. Shared histories, and all that.”

You rubbed at the idle ache in your chest. Of course, Arthur would never do this for himself, but he would do so that his beloved wife could be remembered.

“Surely someone in your own family will be disappointed if you give them to us.” Henry blinked, seemingly stunned by the whole thing.

Arthur paused, his eyes growing misty with unspoken memories. “My wife and I were blessed with many wonderful adventures in our time together, but unfortunately never with children.” His shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of the statement.

“I’ve no other family left to want them,” he added, though with far less sadness than one might have expected. “It seems a waste if they were to end up buried with me.”

Henry startled at Arthur’s grim candour before he repeated, “No one? You’re sure?”

You supposed that Henry, with his expansive family, might have difficulty believing it possible to have no relations, immediate or otherwise.

“Perhaps you’ve not noticed,” Arthur eyed him with measured patience as he wagged a rheumatic finger in his direction, “that I am rather old.”

Henry looked unsure how to respond to that without risking being branded outright disrespectful or a blatant liar.

“I’ve somehow managed to outlive them all,” Arthur continued as he relaxed back in his chair.

“You are young in spirit, Arthur,” you assured him.

“Then not so much old as wizened, perhaps?” He regarded you with humour before shrugging again. “I am excessively old, and I don’t see much point in denying the truth.”

The corners of your lips ticked upward, but your eyes shone with repressed emotion.

“Oh, don’t get all teary on me, dear. I won’t have it.”

You sniffled.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Henry asked again as he leaned forward and gave your hand a comforting squeeze. He placed the box in your palm, and the second it rested in your hands, you knew the bands would be perfect. You didn’t even need to try it on.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” Arthur shot back with open exasperation before turning to you, after which his gaze softened. “I may not have any family in the traditional sense, but if I had a granddaughter, I like to think she would be like you.”

You sniffled again, this time with more urgency, and gratefully took the ancient-looking handkerchief Arthur held out to you.

Henry looked suspiciously emotional. “I can’t argue much with that,” he cleared his throat before taking a sip of his tea.

Arthur turned back sharply toward Henry. “I don’t know you as well, so I can’t judge your character much on my own, but if she chose you, then you can’t be a complete twit.”

You let out a watery laugh, both at the comment and when Henry choked on his tea.

“Here, you need this more than I do.” You wiped your eyes with your thumb as you handed Henry the handkerchief so that he could mop up the tea he sputtered across his lap.

You turned to give Arthur a half-hearted scolding. “One of these days you’re going to scare him off.” He might not be your actual grandfather, but it was common knowledge that the two of you were now a package deal.

“If I live long enough to manage it, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Are you _sure_ you two aren’t related?” Henry asked incredulously. “You’re far too alike not to be.”

You clutched the ring box in your hands and exchanged glances with Arthur, and you both knew with the utmost certitude that even though you weren’t technically related, you were all family in the truest sense of the word.

*****************************************************

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an ode to my own grandfather, who was one of the most brilliant, down to earth, wickedly funny, and lovable (and occasionally prickly) people I’ve had the honour of knowing. He’s been gone over ten years now, and my grandmother for longer, but I still miss them fiercely. 
> 
> And he really did meet my grandmother on a blind date and learnt to fly just so he could visit her. That degree of love and dedication amazes me to this very day. Though, thankfully they did have children, as otherwise, I would not exist. ;)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


End file.
